A Trail of Breadcrumbs

by D E Dennis

  “Where is she?” Michael asked.

  “Other side of town. Faranella’s Bistro. She said we have half an hour to meet her before she returns home.”

  “It’ll take us at least half an hour to get there,” Michael complained. “We need more time.”

  “Want me to call Ella, who’ll call the assistant, who’ll call Presley, who’ll most likely say too bad, and then send that message all the way back down the chain? ’Cause I can do all that or you can just pick up the pace, Grandma.”

  Rolling his eyes, Michael put on a burst of speed, racing through town to catch Rowan before she slipped into the one place he couldn’t go.

  “Know what you’re going to say to her yet?” Michael asked as he blew through a yellow light.

  “What’s your impression of her? Who is she?”

  “Introvert bordering on misanthrope. Only comfortable when she’s alone away from the eyes of the world. Pathologically obsessed with privacy. She reveals nothing of herself where anyone can see,” Michael rattled off. “No personal touches in her office. Drab work clothes. Understated makeup. Not actively involved with the running of her business, letting the small details be handled by others and doing only what is required of her. She wants to fade into the background and be forgotten. Only a fleeting memory in people’s minds.”

  “Wow,” Monica replied. “You sound pretty sure. You seem to have her pegged.”

  Michael kept his eyes firmly on the road. “Rowan Presley isn’t too hard to figure out,” he said simply. “Except for the living in the woods thing. That one is throwing me.”

  “Why? You just said she wants to be away from people? Can’t get more isolated than a wood people fear to go?”

  “She could get isolation in Fairy Tails too,” Michael argued. “From what we’ve seen most of the community keeps to themselves, locked away in their ivory towers counting their money. Why live in the woods?” he repeated, mostly to himself.

  “You can find out in... fourteen minutes,” she said after a glance at her watch. “If we make it of course.”

  “We’ll make it,” Michael said, passing under another yellow light. “We’re almost there.”

  Michael didn’t keep to the speed limit by any means, but thankfully he wasn’t pulled over. Soon, they were turning into the parking lot of the bistro.

  “There she is!” Monica pointed through the windshield. “She’s about to get into her car, Michael. Let me out.”

  He slammed on the brake with a screech and Monica shot out of the car, chasing Rowan down.

  Michael turned into a parking space and killed the engine.

  Rowan and Monica were locked in conversation when he walked up.

  “—too long. I don’t have all day,” Rowan said, arms crossed. Michael spotted something tucked up underneath her elbow.

  “Ms. Presley, we’re trying to find a murderer. I would think you would want to help us.”

  “How can I help?” she snapped. “I don’t know who did it.”

  Monica stepped back and held out her hand. “If we could please go inside and talk?”

  Face screwed up in a scowl, Michael watched the emotions war on Rowan’s face.

  Finally, she said, “Fine. You have thirty minutes. No more.” She stomped off.

  The siblings followed, sharing a look behind her back.

  Michael had never been in this bistro before. Prices tended to be higher this close to the Fairy Tails gate, so Michael stuck to the cheap eats on his side of town.

  He whistled. It was a charming space. Intimate booths, white and gold decorations, small lit candles on the table, and no one in sight.

  “Is it open?” he asked, looking around. He didn’t see so much as a waiter.

  Rowan didn’t seem concerned by this. She went over to a booth, sat down, and beckoned them over.

  They joined her, sliding into the booth across from her.

  “I prefer this place,” Rowan said. “It’s quiet. No crowds.”

  “No one at all,” Michael mumbled. Monica elbowed him.

  “Thank you for speaking with us, Ms. Presley,” she said. “We just have a few questions.”

  She sniffed. “You’re lucky my secretary called me when she did. I was already on my way into town to get my mail.”

  She removed the envelopes from under her arm and flipped through them. She picked one out and held it up. “I received the letter from Harper you spoke about.”

  Michael lurched forward. “You did? That’s great. What does it say?”

  “I haven’t opened it yet, and I won’t until I go home.”

  He frowned. “We need to know—”

  “You need to know information related to her death,” she said firmly, face impassive. She put the mail in her purse. “If there is something that can help you in this envelope, I will inform you right away, but until then, I will not have you snooping through my business.”

  Michael wanted to argue, but the hard set to her jaw told him she wasn’t changing her mind. Not for the first time, Michael wished he was an actual cop instead of a PI. He had no authority to compel her to hand over the letter, and she knew it.

  They slowly sat back in their seats, eyes locked in their staredown.

  It was Monica’s pointed throat-clearing that finally made him look away.

  “Ms. Presley, are you—”

  “Hello, madams. Sir. What can I get you?”

  “Nothing,” the three of them said at once and the apron-clad waitress disappeared as quickly as she came.

  “As I was saying,” Monica continued. “Ms. Presley, are you interested in helping us find the person who killed Harper Rowe?”

  “I would help you if I could, but I don’t know how you expect me to do that. I barely knew the woman.”

  “How many times did you meet with her?”

  “Why does that matter?” she said through gritted teeth.

  Monica waited.

  Rowan heaved a sigh. “We met four or five times.”

  “What did you guys talk about?”

  “I’ve answered this question already. We met to discuss the article.”

  “The last time we spoke, you said Harper asked you about the day you rescued the twins.”

  “Yes.”

  “That was all you spoke about?”

  “Yes,” she repeated. Michael read the frustration in the wrinkles of her forehead. “How many times do I have to say the same thing? I’ve already told you everything I know.”

  Monica leaned forward, arms resting on the table. “The problem is I don’t believe you have told us everything.”

  Presley’s eyes flashed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

  “That depends,” Monica replied. “Are you telling me the truth?”

  Michael lifted a brow. This was a new interrogation tactic.

  Another staredown commenced, but this time Michael was on the outside of it.

  “Here you go.”

  Michael jumped. This waitress needed squeakier shoes.

  She placed three glasses of water on the table and smiled. “Call me if you need anything.”

  Michael thanked her and picked up a glass. He sipped while he waited for one of them to break.

  “I am telling the truth.” Rowan’s face was unreadable. She appeared calm, relaxed. “Why would you say otherwise?”

  Monica shrugged, picking up her own glass. “That might be because you say you only spoke to Harper about that awful day in the woods, but then you tell us you met with her almost half a dozen times.” She gestured at herself and Michael. “When you told us that story, it took you all of five minutes. So why did it take you so much longer to tell the story to Harper?”

  Michael saw Rowan’s fists clench before she quickly removed them from the table, placing them in her lap where his watchful eyes couldn’t see.

  “And if you weren’t discussing Antarr,” Monica continued, “and you’ve admitted you didn’t have much more to say about him. I have to wonder w
hat you were talking about... and why you don’t want to tell us about it?”

  “There’s nothing to tell,” Rowan replied, a bit too quickly.

  “I don’t think that’s true, Ms. Presley.” Monica shook her head. “I think there is a reason why you guard your privacy so fiercely and why you’re not in the habit of speaking with reporters.” She paused and took a sip of water. “I think you have a secret, Ms. Presley—”

  “No.”

  “One you opened up to Harper about.”

  “No.”

  “Or maybe she found out on her own, like another reporter was able to.”

  Rowan stiffened, eyes widening slightly. “What? Another reporter? Who?”

  “Who is the other reporter who discovered your secret?”

  “Yes— I mean, no— I don’t have a secret!”

  “You have nothing to hide?” Monica asked.

  “No!”

  “So then.” Monica paused to take another sip of water. “You’ll have no problem telling us about your baby—”

  A sudden coughing fit cut off the rest of her sentence. The water must have gone down the wrong pipe. She held up a finger for patience.

  Michael remained fixed on Rowan’s face the whole time, watching as the calm and collected mask broke. Rowan stared at her, face draining of blood, and body going stiff as a plank.

  “Excuse me.” Monica finally got herself under control. “As I was saying, tell us about your baby brother,” Monica said. “Or about how you got a juvenile record?”

  “What?” Rowan whispered, through bloodless lips. “My...”

  “Brother. How did he die?”

  She blinked rapidly, eyes coming back into focus. “It was an accident— Hold on, how do you know about the record? That’s supposed to be sealed!”

  Monica ignored the question. “Tell us about the accident.”

  Her face twisted. “I don’t have to tell you anything! This is ridiculous! I won’t be treated like a criminal. I have done nothing wrong.”

  Michael’s eyes narrowed. Her outrage sounded real enough but then why were her shoulders relaxing? Why did she seem... relieved?

  Michael jerked, as if his sudden flash of insight had literally struck him over the head. He grabbed his sister’s hand under the table, stopping whatever she was going to say to Rowan in response.

  “Alright, Ms. Presley,” Michael piped up. “You don’t have to tell us about your brother, but we would like to hear about... your baby.”

  Monica’s head whipped around, goggling at him, as the horrified look returned. Rowan paled, breaths coming out in quick bursts.

  “Baby?” she said derisively. She tried for a harsh laugh. “What baby?”

  “Your baby, Rowan,” Michael stated. Suddenly, it all clicked into place. Harper, the article, everything. “The one you spoke to Harper about for five sessions. The one who was murdered by the Siren Woods Killer.”

  Monica’s eyes were the size of dinner plates. “What?” she squeaked. “You have a child?!”

  “No!” Rowan cried, eyes darting around the room like prey looking for an escape. “I have no idea what—”

  “Harper did find out a secret,” Michael plowed on, “but not about whatever was in your juvenile record. She didn’t care about that. Why would she? Her goal was always to give a voice to those children. She looked into you, the witness who revealed her sister’s killer, but when she did, she found out more than she bargained for... or maybe, you told her yourself. Harper wasn’t like the rest, hunting for a juicy story. This one mattered to both of you.

  “You’ve been alone with your grief for so long. Not able to tell anyone what you lost, but then Harper comes along. Someone who still carries the past with her and who knows what you’ve been through.

  “You told her about the child you gave away,” Michael said softly. “Who was it? Nicholas or Irina?”

  Rowan’s chest was heaving. Tears flowed freely from red, glaring eyes.

  “Rowan, it’s okay. You can tell us the—”

  She moved so fast. Michael didn’t have time to blink before she grabbed her glass and threw its contents in his face.

  “No!” she screamed as she darted out of the booth, racing for the door.

  Sputtering, Michael yelped when Monica gave him a hard shove.

  “Michael, hurry up! Stop her! If she gets into her car and goes back home, we won’t be able to follow her.”

  Thoughts of chasing suspects and tripping over tree roots in Siren Woods spurred him on.

  Swiping his shirt sleeve over his face, he jumped up and ran after her. Michael burst out just as she got her key in the door.

  “Rowan, stop! Please!”

  “Leave me alone! I just want to be left alone!” She flung the door open and threw herself inside.

  Michael wasn’t going to make it before she closed and locked the door. He had to think of something.

  “Antarr!” he shouted desperately. “Antarr killed Harper, Rowan!”

  The door stopped mid-slam.

  “She was trying to do a good thing,” he said, approaching her car. “For her sister. For your child. And he killed her for it. And I—” He threw up his hands, angrily tossing his head. “I can’t prove it! He’s going to get away with it! Again!”

  She stared at him through the windshield, face soaked with tears.

  “Rowan, I don’t care about your past. I’m not looking to expose you or make your life difficult. I’m just trying to do what should have been done years ago.”

  Michael stepped up to the driver’s side door. Rowan’s hand was still out of the car, holding on the handle.

  He looked her directly in the eye. “I want Antarr to pay for what he did to those kids and to Harper. You can help me, Rowan.”

  She shook her head furiously. “There’s nothing I can do,” she sobbed. “I want to. I’ve dreamt of putting an end to that animal! Taking from him what he took from me, but I couldn’t!”

  “You can do something now,” he insisted. “Just tell me the truth, Rowan.”

  Her hand released the door and covered her face, muffling her heart-wrenching sobs. “Okay,” she forced out. “Okay.”

  “Did you have a baby?” Michael asked, crouching down beside the car.

  She sniffled, wiping her nose on her blazer. It took her a minute but, in a small voice, she said, “Yes. I got pregnant when I was sixteen.”

  “Did you give birth to a boy or girl?”

  “It was a girl,” she replied, looking down at her clenched hands. “A beautiful baby girl.”

  Michael nodded. “And did—”

  “Daddy was furious,” she continued, ignoring Michael. “Things had always been bad between us, ever since Roland. But I was only nine.”

  Her eyes suddenly flew to his face. “We were playing on the factory floor. Not allowed. And we were sneaking candy. Another no-no. I snatched a bag of marshmallows out of a box and we ran off to a secret corner. Giggling and laughing about our prize.

  “I dared Roland to a contest. Whoever could eat the most marshmallows won. We... we didn’t know about the gelatin allergy. So when he started to react, I had no idea what was happening or what to do.” A tear hung on the tip of her nose. “I thought he might have been choking, so I patted his back and tried to do the Heimlich. Nothing worked. By the time I realized something was very wrong and got help... it was too late.

  “Roland died and my father blamed me.” She shook her head, eyes far away. “He hated me. I could see it whenever he looked at me. That may have been why I started to rebel when I turned fourteen. I guess I thought if I was going to get that look no matter what I did, then I was going to earn it.

  “It started off with little things. Messing up at school. Running around with the bad kids. Getting detention. Then, I started upping the ante. Shoplifting, a different guy every week, and then finally, when I was fifteen, I stole my neighbor’s sports car and got into an accident. It was bad. The other person hit me, witnes
ses confirmed it, but they got really hurt and eventually they died. That’s how I got the record and, finally, my father’s attention.

  “He was even harder on me after that. Curfews, groundings, forbidding me to see my friends, but that made me get more creative. It was all one big joke, making him angry, until I—”

  “Got pregnant.”

  “Yes.” She nodded sadly. “Father was livid. It was the last straw. He screamed himself hoarse after I told him. He said he was through with me embarrassing him. That I wasn’t going to leave another mark on our family name. I had no idea what that meant until I came home one day and found my room stripped bare and our housekeeper waiting for me.

  “Violet took me to the car, forced me to get in, and drove off. She didn’t say a word,” Rowan whispered. “Even though I asked her a dozen times what was going on. She just drove until we reached Siren Woods. She parked the car at the edge of the road and dragged me into the woods. Deep, deep inside with only tiny notches in the bark to mark our trail to the cabin. My new home for the next six months.”

  “Goodness,” Michael breathed. “Your father made you live out there?”

  “I lived in those woods until I gave birth. Only Violet was there to help me. Violet called my father when I went into labor, but he didn’t come. He never came to visit in all the time I had been there. Moments after she was born; she was taken from me. It was always the plan for her to be given up for adoption. That was my choice, but I didn’t want her to go without something from me. I wanted her to know what I would never be able to tell her.

  “That I loved her.” Rowan took a breath and rubbing her eyes. Soaking the sleeve of her blouse. “I wasn’t allowed to leave the cabin so Violet helped me. Eighteen gifts,” she said, “to be given to her every year until her eighteenth birthday. It was just little things like a rattle, my favorite books, and a tiny handmade porcelain doll made to look like me. Violet tracked down everything I told her to get and put it in a box along with a note telling her about me. Violet took that box and my baby away, and I never saw her again.”

  She cleared her throat, shaking herself. “Anyway, after I gave birth, I was allowed to return from my ‘European boarding school.’ No one knowing what truly happened but the three of us.

  “I straightened up after that,” Rowan continued. “I had to. Father made it clear any more nonsense would get me sent right back to the cabin. I buckled down, did better in school and took over the business when he passed. Leaving everything... behind me.”